


Rosie: The Blip

by Katsala



Series: Reality Ensues [3]
Category: Fifty Shades of Grey - All Media Types
Genre: Cheating, Divorce, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Not Quite An Original Character, Spitefic, emotional cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 02:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18160160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsala/pseuds/Katsala
Summary: Anastasia Rose Grey, ‘Rosie’ to her friends, tells her husband she’s pregnant, and, when he throws a tantrum, refuses to roll over and die.





	Rosie: The Blip

**Author's Note:**

> When writing this I set out with two main goals in mind: portray Christian’s abysmal, tantrum-y attitude as unacceptable, and get rid of Ana’s unbirthing-esque fantasy in which she only wanted to have a baby to push a copy of her husband out of her vagina. Hopefully I’ve done alright.  
> Heavily inspired by the sporking of this series by Ket Makura and Gehayi. In addition I heavily relied on the (shitty and barren) Fifty Shades wikia for the timeline.

 

 

He stills, and very slowly all the color drains from his face. “What?” he whispers, ashen.

 

I stare at him. “I’m pregnant, Christian. Don’t act like I said I’ve got cancer.”

 

His brow furrows with incomprehension. “How?”

 

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I knew he’d be upset, but I expected him to at least act like a functioning adult. “Do you want me to draw you a picture?”

 

His stance changes suddenly, his eyes hardening to flint. “Your shot?” he snarls.

 

I flinch back. “Dr Greene-“ I begin, trying to explain to him that the shot was ineffective.

 

He cuts me off. “Did you forget your shot?!” He repeats, actually shouting at me now. He bangs a fist on the dining room table, making me jump, and stands up so abruptly he almost knocks his chair over. “Christ, Rosie! You have one thing, one thing to remember. Shit! I don’t fucking believe it. How could you be so stupid?”

 

“Excuse me?” I say, anger bubbling up over the fear. “I have one thing to remember? Is that what you think of my career?”

 

“Don’t you turn this on me!” he growls. “I’m not the idiot who got myself pregnant!”

 

“Oh, excuse me,” I say venomously. “I didn’t realize this baby was the Second Coming of Jesus fucking Christ!”

 

“Don’t say that word,” he says, horrified.

 

“What word? Baby? God, Christian, you’re such a child.”

 

He slams his hand on the table again and I flinch. “Stop it! I thought we’d agreed on this!”

 

“Yeah. We did. That’s why I didn’t fucking do this on purpose!” Now I’m shouting. I can’t help it. How dare he imply that I would do this intentionally?

 

He ignores me. “This is why, Rosie. This is why I like control. So shit like this doesn’t come along and fuck everything up.”

 

“Christian. Get yourself together. We are having a baby and you can either bury your head in the sand or you can deal with this like a grown-ass man.” I stand up. “You know what? I’m going to bed. You can go and make up your mind.”

 

As I turn my back on him and stride off towards the bedroom, I hear him bellow, “Oh, fuck this!”, followed by the slamming of the front door.

 

I don’t look back.

 

 

 

 

I wake up from my fitful sleep at eleven. My husband is still gone.

 

I lay in bed for a while, letting my fingers splay across my lower abdomen as I think about the little blip on the ultrasound. When Dr. Greene first told me I was pregnant I’d thought, immediately, of a little boy with Christian’s hair and eyes- my husband in miniature. The more I thought about the baby, though, the more I realized that wasn’t what I wanted. That was kind of gross, but more than that, it wasn’t what having a child was supposed to be about.

 

I wanted to have this baby because I wanted to see who they would be. I wanted to help shape a life, to be able to read to them like Ray had done for me, to inspire them. I wanted to do better than Christian’s birth mother had- better than my own flighty, irresponsible mother, I privately admit to myself. Our baby would never have to worry about helping her mother pay bills, or wonder if food would be on the table, or cower in fear from an abusive pimp. We could raise them safe and happy and healthy. Wasn’t that worth something?

 

And yeah, maybe Christian wasn’t ready to be a parent. I wasn’t either. That wasn’t how the world worked, though. You didn’t always get what you wanted when you wanted it. And it wasn’t like we would be alone in this; I thought of Ray, of Grace and Carrick, of Elliot, Kate, Ethan, Mia… we would be okay.

 

I just had to make Christian see that.

 

Finally content with my thoughts, I get up and fumble in the dark for my phone. I send Christian a quick, “Where are you?” text and head to take a bath. After that I throw on one of my 1930s style nightgowns. I check my phone for a reply and, seeing none, drag the comforter off the bed into the living room and curl up on the couch, planning to wait for him. It isn’t long, though, before sleep sucks me back down.

 

 

 

 

I awaken once more when I hear a loud thud, followed by slurred cursing.

 

I raise my head and blink the bleariness out of my eyes. Christian is back, and he has, apparently, knocked over a lamp. Wonderful. Even if it weren’t for the slur in his voice and the trial of carnage from here to the door, I could’ve told he was drunk just from the smell of liquor.

 

He spies me on the couch in the light from the windows and leers. “Waiting up for me, eh, beautiful?” He asks loudly and cheerfully.

 

I sigh. At least he’s home, I tell myself as I climb out of the blankets. “You look a mess,” I say sharply, putting one of my arms around his shoulder and leading him towards bed without destroying any more of our furniture.

 

“I am a mess,” he tells me. “I’m fifty shades of fucked up, remember?”

 

“Oh, I remember.”

 

I lay him down on our bed and start trying to undo his tie. He grabs my hips and pulls me close to him. “I like the feel of this fabric on you, Anastay-shia Rose,” he slurs. “You should always be in satin or silk.” He moves forward to press his mouth against my belly. “And we have an invader here,” he murmurs against me. My jaw tightens. “You’re going to keep me awake, aren’t you?” he continues, but he isn’t looking at my belly. He’s looking right into my eyes.

 

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Babies don’t cry out of malice, Christian. No one is ganging up on you.”

 

He laughs. “And it’s happening already. You’re choosing him over me.”

 

I throw my hands in the air, completely exasperated. “I can love more than one person at a time, Christian! This isn’t a monopoly!”

 

“Yes, it is. You’re mine.”

 

I stare at him, tears of frustration blurring my vision. “I’m done talking about this tonight. Go to sleep and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”

 

I turn my back on him and let the tears come, hot and bitter, and once I get a handle on myself and turn back around he’s already passed out. I let out a deep breath, relieved. I don’t want to have any more of this conversation while he’s drunk.

 

I start loosening his tie, trying hard to be gentle and not wake him. Once that’s off I move on to his jacket. His wallet and phone fall out of the pocket onto the floor. I sigh and bend down to pick them up. I set the wallet on our nightstand but hover over his BlackBerry.

 

The password, 0731, is our wedding date. I find my text, “Where are you?” at 11:15, and below that, the most recent message…

 

“It was good to see you. I understand now. Don’t fret. You’ll make a wonderful father.”

 

It’s from Elena Lincoln.

 

 

 

 

 

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chant under my breath, pacing the floor of our living room.

 

“This is Kate Kavanagh, speak and ye shall be heard,” chirps my best friend’s answering machine for the fifth time. I resist the urge to throw my phone against the wall.

 

I can’t stay here in this house knowing what Christian’s done, but I have no where else to go. I can’t reach Kate- not that it’s really her fault, given that it’s almost two in the morning- and visiting hours are most certainly over at the hospital, so I can’t go see Ray. José is down in Vancouver, and I don’t think I could stomach the two and a half hour long drive right now. I need someone close, someone I can talk to about all this, someone who would be up at 2:00 AM on a Wednesday night, someone I can trust…

 

Mia picks up on the first ring. “Ciao, bella!” she says cheerfully, with only the lightest hint of a slur in her words. “You caught me at a great time, I’m between martinis.”

 

I feel a dam break inside my chest. “Mia,” I say, my voice cracking, “me and Christian- God, we had this awful fight and I don’t know where to go, I-“

 

“Hey,” she says gently, tamping down on her bubbly demeanor. “It’s okay. I can meet you at my apartment, okay? You can have Taylor drive you, he knows where it is. Is that okay?”

 

“Yes,” I say, my shoulders shaking. “Thank you so, so much, really-“

 

She cuts me off firmly. “Don’t mention it, Rosie. You’re family.”

 

 

 

 

 

“That motherfucker,” Mia says around her mouthful of hash browns. She washes it down with a sip of coffee while I look enviously on, stuck with orange juice.

 

Mia is still dressed for the club in her black bodycon dress and outrageously smoky eyed makeup. Her silver stilettos have been haphazardly thrown down the hallway. She’s looking over Christian’s messages now. Under other circumstances I would’ve felt bad for stealing his phone; I definitely would’ve felt bad for leaking our personal life to someone else, even if it is his sister. But he’s just done the same to me. Let him have a taste of his own medicine for once.

 

“I can’t believe he’s stayed friends with her, too! That’s so messed up. And he’s been seeing Dr. Flynn for how many years and he still doesn’t think it’s fucked up? Gross.”

 

“He tried to take me to get my hair done at her salon,” I tell her, dropping my head into my hands. As awful as I feel right now, it’s a bit like what I remember loosing a baby tooth felt like, a sort of aching relief.

 

“No. No way!” Mia exclaims. “That’s so fucked up.”

 

“And it’s like… how does he not see why that would be upsetting?! I got into fights with him all the time about her and every time he would just mindlessly defend her.” I shook my head. “And here I was dumb enough to think that, now that we’re married, he’d listen to me about her. But no. The moment the going gets tough he runs right back to the woman who abused him.”

 

Mia stays quiet for a moment. “You don’t think he slept with her, do you?”

 

I pause. “I don’t know. And I almost don’t care.” I chomp down viciously on a crispy piece of bacon. “No matter what happened I still feel like he cheated on me. Emotional cheating still counts as cheating, even if he’s too socially inept to see that.”

 

Mia reaches a hand over and squeezes my wrist. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I really am.” She bites her lip. “I know this isn’t how the shovel talk is supposed to go, since he is my brother, but I seriously will kick his ass if you want me to.”

 

I mull it over. I don’t want him hurt- not physically, at least. What do I want?

 

I want him to love me. I want him to love the baby. I want him to stop running away from his problems. I want him to try. I want him to realize that this isn’t about him.

 

And I don’t think he can.

 

“I don’t want you to hurt him. I want what’s best for him. I love him.” I swallow hard. “I just wish he was a completely different person.” I close my eyes and turn the words over in my mouth before I say them aloud. “I think it’s over.”

 

She looks me dead in the eye, stone-cold sober. “Then it’s over,” she says firmly. “And it’s not your fault. You are doing the right thing for all three of you, and I’m really proud, okay?”

 

“Okay.” And the funny thing is, I believe her.

 

 

 

 

The next time I wake up is to Mia shaking me. She let me have the bed while I took the couch; the goodwill she earned for that starts to slide away when I look at her alarm clock and see it’s 6:00 AM. “What is it?” I ask groggily.

 

As my eyes adjust I realize that she’s pale and wide-eyed. Clutching at my shoulder she says, “Taylor woke me up. He caught Jack Hyde and some woman trying to break in.”

 

I go cold. “What?”

 

“It’s okay, the police are already here. They want us down at the station to take our statements.” She looks me over in my long nightgown. “I can lend you a bra? Maybe just a robe.”

 

“Thanks,” I say shakily. “Is your security team okay?” I ask, realizing she hadn’t mentioned them.

 

She makes a face. “Apparently they were in the parking lot, hotboxing in their car.” She shakes her head. “Completely useless. I don’t know where Christian found those clowns.”

 

I sit up and pull Mia into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the 23rd of May, 2012, my daughter is born. Her name is Fallon Louise Steele. She is not the exact copy of my ex-husband I once foolishly wished for. She has my blue eyes and brown hair; as she grows up I begin to see her father in her nose, in her chin, in her adoration of a good workout.

 

Her favorite author is Edgar Allan Poe. She takes dance classes and learns to throw her soul into the movements and tell a story through her body. She comes out to me as asexual at age nineteen and cries when I tell her I’m proud of the brave young woman she’s become.

 

Christian Grey sends her birthday cards every year and never misses a child support check. That is all the courts will allow until age eighteen, after which it turns into all that Fallon will allow.

 

It is not perfect. Life never is. But it is, for the most part, happy, and that’s all anyone can ever ask for.


End file.
